


Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

by wheel_pen



Series: Darkwood Eastport [22]
Category: Lie to Me (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Fish out of Water, Magic, Polygamy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:30:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike Newton is invited to dinner with the Orange Light clan. On the menu: cultural misunderstanding, long chats about the future, and pickled pigs’ feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guess Who's Coming to Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe. I’ve given a lot of thought to the Darkwood culture, so if something seems confusing, feel free to ask. I hope you enjoy!

A polite servant had met him at the gate and let him in; the man’s brother, or so it seemed from the resemblance, met him at the door and allowed him access to the house. Both men were wearing formal uniforms, like something from a dusty costume drama inflicted upon him during history class—black vests with a bright orange symbol covering the back, like a sunburst. The family crest, Alice liked to call it—it was on the bumpers of all of their cars, on their business cards, on their mailbox. Alice said her father even had a tattoo of it, which was not something Mike really wanted to picture. It was hard to escape the thought, though, especially when he noticed the orange sunburst in the stained glass window above the front door.

“Mike!” Alice greeted excitedly, hovering just behind the servant in the foyer. She gave him a quick hug and Mike thought he saw a distinct expression of disapproval flit across the man’s bland features. Great, even the servants hated him. He swallowed nervously.

“Oh, uh, here,” he responded, holding up the flowers he’d brought. “My mom said I should give—“

Alice’s eyebrows went up. “Oh! You brought _flowers_!” Her tone was not reassuring.

“Uh, they’re for your mom,” Mike clarified, wondering if he was about to get into trouble again. What could be wrong with a few daylilies? “See, they’re orange, so—“

Alice giggled and looped her arm through his, so at least he knew she wasn’t offended. “I’m sure it’s very nice,” she told him. “But in _our_ culture, flowers mean—“

“Hey, Mike!” an enthusiastic voice called. “Long time no see, bro!” Eli bounded across the foyer towards them, giving Mike a high-five while Alice rolled her eyes.

“Ladru!” she complained, in the way of all embarrassed teenagers. Eli was Alice’s _other_ father, sort of—the other husband in the family, another parent, but Alice had been very firm on the idea that he _wasn’t_ her father, really. He wasn’t _anyone’s_ father, or so they said—Mike thought several of the younger kids looked a lot like him, more than they did Alice’s ‘real’ dad, but as near as he could figure everyone was supposed to pretend that Cal was the father of all the kids, and Eli was some kind of… uncle? It was definitely one of those concepts that was lost in translation.

“Uh, hi,” Mike greeted Eli. It was easier to think of him as Alice’s uncle anyway, since he was probably only in his early 30’s.

“Hey, what’s this?” Eli continued, nodding towards the bouquet.

“He brought flowers!” Alice explained teasingly, pulling Mike’s arm up to display them. “Isn’t that nice?”

Eli took the flowers for closer inspection as Mike continued to feel mortified. What if they only used flowers at funerals or something? “What do you call these flowers?” Eli inquired with great interest.

“Um, they’re just daylilies.”

“Day-lily, that’s right,” Eli agreed. “I’m sure we have some in the gardens. What is the cultural significance of bringing these flowers?”

“Ladru!” Alice complained again, in a put-upon voice.

Eli was watching Mike expectantly, though, with curiosity but no judgment, so the teenager tried to answer politely. “Well, I guess it’s something people do sometimes when they’re invited over to dinner,” he replied. Then, because he felt like a dork—what teenager _really_ brought flowers to dinner?—he hastily placed the blame elsewhere. “My mom said I should bring them, for Dr. Gillian.”

Eli nodded in understanding. “Like a hostess gift! I see. How interesting!” Quickly he handed the flowers back to Mike. “Sorry! I hope I haven’t disturbed any hospitality rituals by touching them.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mike assured him, trying to be cool. At least Eli didn’t seem weirded out by the flowers.

Alice tugged Mike’s arm. “Come on! We have to say hi to Mom. She’s still in the kitchen, right?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Eli confirmed, and Alice steered Mike down a hallway.

He’d never really been in the Orange Light house before, not farther than the foyer anyway. It didn’t look as different as he’d been expecting—no mansion encrusted with gold and silver, or fine paintings, or whatever mansions had these days—it was his mom who poured over those fancy house magazines, not him. She would probably be disappointed to learn that their house looked a lot like all the others he’d been in locally, except it was cleaner and, as he and Alice continued to walk, obviously a lot bigger. There were even the same seascapes and nautical décor on the walls.

A small herd of giggling children raced by them suddenly and Alice yelled something after them, rolling her eyes again. Mike didn’t need the remark translated—he knew the expression well enough, as _he_ had a little sister who could be quite annoying to _his_ visitors. Finally they stepped into the kitchen, which Mike thought his mom _would_ be interested in, as it was huge. There seemed to be at least two of everything—stoves, ovens, refrigerators, microwaves, sinks—all of which was in use by an array of uniformed servants stirring, washing, checking, basting. Mike had never seen so many of them at once, and finally he spotted some differences among them—women as well as men, different ages, hair colors, ethnicities. But their faces were all still curiously expressionless and indistinct, ordinary and unmemorable. Mike wondered if there was some kind of rule about the Darkwood people, who all tended to be quite good-looking, or at least striking, having only plain-faced servants.

“Mom, Mike’s here!” Alice announced, and at first Mike didn’t see who she was talking to. Then he spotted Dr. Gillian at the side of the kitchen, consulting with yet more servants. Dr. Gillian also seemed almost too young to be Alice’s mother—and to have two older kids besides—but that was more because she was ‘well-preserved,’ the only compliment Mike’s dad was allowed to give her without inciting a glare from his own wife. Mike’s mom said she was ‘elegant,’ but that word seemed too off-putting to Mike—Dr. Gillian was very approachable, always friendly without being overwhelming, the way Eli and his endless curiosity could be. Even now, when she was clearly in the midst of last-minute arrangements, she had a genuine smile for Mike.

“Hello! It’s very nice to see you again, Mike,” she told him, breaking away from the servants. She was always confident, at least as far as he’d seen, but quietly so, never strident or bossy.

“Hello, Dr. Gillian. Thank you for having me for dinner,” Mike replied, trying hard to remember his manners.

Alice started to giggle, the way she did when he’d done something ‘wrong’ or rather different from Darkwood mores, but Dr. Gillian only gave an extra blink. “You’re very welcome. We’ve been looking forward to it.” Alice snickered again and her mother shot her a warning look. As soon as he and Alice were alone, Mike was going to demand clarification.

And speaking of things he’d messed up—might as well get it over with. “Um, these are for you,” Mike announced, holding out the bouquet. “It’s a hostess gift. My mom thought you would like them.”

Mike realized he shouldn’t have worried about Dr. Gillian’s reaction. “Thank you so much, Mike,” she replied graciously, taking the flowers without hesitation. “They’re beautiful. I love daylilies. Please thank your mother as well.” She turned more to Alice. “Dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t you give Mike a little tour of the house? See if you can find your father.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“So what did I say wrong _this_ time?” Mike asked when they were out of the kitchen. He would be embarrassed, of course, even though there was probably no logical reason why he should’ve known better; but his nature was buoyant enough that he didn’t get _too_ bogged down by it. At least when there wasn’t a glaring servant around.

“’Having me for dinner’?” Alice chortled. “Is that really what you say?”

“Well… yeah,” Mike replied, not really getting it. “It means—inviting me to dinner with you. Like, having someone over to watch the game, or—what?”

Alice was snickering again. “I guess it’s a translation problem!” she decided. “’Having’ is like, you know, _having_ someone,” she added in a suggestive tone. “ _Having_?”

“Oh.” Yeah, that was worthy of being embarrassed about, Mike agreed, remembering exactly what he’d said to Alice’s mom, whom he really wanted to impress. “That was bad.”

“Yeah,” Alice laughed. “And then my _mom_ said—“

Mike had to start chuckling, too. “Glad she’s been looking forward to it, at least! Or does _that_ mean something else?”

“No, it’s the same!”

When they had finally gotten over that—Mike fully intended to pretend he had no idea he’d said anything wrong later, or else he wouldn’t be able to look Dr. Gillian in the eye at dinner—he dared to ask the other question. “What about the flowers? What does bringing them mean?”

Alice shook her head. “No, I don’t think I should tell you,” she decided. “My mom says I shouldn’t laugh at you for that stuff anyway,” she added, laughing.

“Alice!”

“No, it’s probably better if you don’t know,” she said impishly. “Come on, let’s see the house.”

Of course, the house was too large to adequately cover in fifteen minutes, Mike quickly realized, even if they left out entire wings of empty guest rooms or with the private rooms of the clan’s adults. “Why do you have so many guest rooms?” Mike asked. The single extra bedroom in _his_ house had quickly been turned into his parents’ office, with a lumpy bed that folded out from the couch.

“For guests, of course!” Alice replied in a sprightly tone. “Other Darkwood clan members come to visit us all the time. People from the LA clans come to Eastport every month to take the boat back to the Valley, and each of us takes turns hosting them.”

Mike nodded his partial understanding. Alice’s explanations were sometimes shaky, but he understood that a ship from Darkwood Valley frequently appeared in the Eastport harbor—he had seen it many times himself, a beautiful wooden sailing ship, like the kind in movies about pirates. It definitely stood out beside the small cruise ships, fishing boats, and transport barges in the harbor—it looked more like some museum ship than a real, working vessel that transported crates of goods back and forth across the Atlantic.

According to Alice, the clans in LA were responsible for collecting goods to send back to the Valley, and every month truckloads of boxes, plus a small group of LA Darkwood members, showed up in Eastport to meet the ship. When the ship arrived, it unloaded all the goods from the Valley for America, including a lot of personal correspondence as there was, incredibly, no faster way to communicate with its citizens. Then the goods and people from America were loaded on and the ship sailed back across the ocean to wherever the Valley was, returning the next month to disembark its passengers and start again. Given that frequency, Mike supposed he did see the necessity for more extensive guest quarters.

“I’m also not supposed to show you any of the girls’ bedrooms, including mine!” Alice added in a sly tone. “It’s _just not done_.” She sounded like she was repeating instructions from someone, which she thought were silly. “I mean, the servants would start hanging around anyway. It’s not like we’re alone at all.”

Mike glanced around the living room they’d found themselves in and saw that, indeed, there was a uniformed person dusting the wide television set that hung on the wall. “How many, er, servants do you guys have?” He felt awkward using that word; ‘servants’ seemed to be what rich British people had in their country manors, while the ordinary people he knew had ‘the cleaning woman’ or ‘yard man,’ or just, you know, did it themselves. Although, all the Darkwood clans qualified as rich, this huge house was in the country, and Alice’s dad _sounded_ British to him, so maybe it all fit.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Alice replied dismissively, as though the number weren’t important. “Enough to take care of the house and grounds, and to keep us safe.” This seemed like an odd addition to Mike, but he didn’t get the chance to ask as Alice kept chattering on. “They’re always around when we need them, but sometimes they make it difficult to be alone! Here, these are the classrooms. See, this window just looks like a mirror on the other side, so people don’t know if they’re being watched. Makes me kind of _paranoid_ sometimes!”

On the other side of the window/mirror set in the wall was what looked to Mike remarkably like an elementary school classroom, with brightly-colored posters on the walls, low shelves of books and toys around the edges, and two semi-circular tables in the middle. Three young children sat evenly spaced at the tables, diligently working in softcover books, while Alice’s father—Dr. Orange Light—sat on a chair in between the tables, scribbling away in a notebook while balancing a stack of papers on his lap.

“This is where you have school?” Mike asked in surprise. He’d never met anyone who was homeschooled before the Darkwood clans moved to town, except for those two brothers who went to his church and were really weird.

“No, silly,” Alice corrected, “this is the room for the _little_ kids. The older kids work in the room next door, and the _really_ little kids, who don’t even have lessons yet, have a playroom over there.”

“Oh.” Mike nodded like he understood perfectly. “So—are those the only three ‘little’ kids? I thought there were more.”

“Those are the three _slackers_ ,” Alice reported with a certain amount of superiority. “We have to get a set number of lessons done each week, and the ones who fall behind have to stay and work longer.” She began to point, careful not to touch the glass. “That’s Caroline, one of the twins. She can’t sit still! And that’s Laura—she’s the favorite, but she daydreams. And the oldest one is James—he tries but he’s just kinda dumb.” Alice’s assessments had the finality only an older sibling could deliver.

Mike started to ask a follow-up but stopped dead when Dr. Orange Light suddenly looked up at him, straight in the eye. Alice’s dad seemed, er, nice enough, but he had a very curious way of _staring_ at people, his head tilted to one side, like he was reading every secret thought they’d ever had and filing it away for future use. It was unnerving.

Alice noticed the half-finished sentence. “What? Oh, he can’t see us. You have to flip this switch and make this little light come on over the window for it to be see-through,” she explained to Mike. “I think he just looks up periodically in case someone _is_ there, to freak them out. He’s creepy that way.”

Mike thought he saw a ghost of a smile on the man’s face, just for a second, before he suddenly started to pile up his papers. “Alright, go get washed up for supper,” he told the three children, who ended their labors with undisguised relief. “We _will_ be back here tomorrow if I don’t see some progress,” he added severely. Then he repeated his warning in the language of Darkwood Valley, presumably to make sure everyone had understood it.

The three children streamed out the door of the classroom, pausing to giggle at Mike before vanishing down the hall. Dr. Orange Light followed them, glancing over Mike without surprise. Then again, the psychologist was good at hiding his feelings, supposedly.

“Hello, Dr. Ora—“ Mike began.

The look the man was giving him, which seemed to involve irritation, stopped the teenager. “He’s been in the house twenty minutes, and you’re just now comin’ to find me?” he accused Alice, looking between her and Mike as if deciding who to blame. Mike felt it was wise _not_ to ask how Dr. Orange Light had known his arrival time.

“We saw Mom right away,” Alice shot back, not the least bit intimidated. “She said to give him a tour.”

“Good G-d!” her father exclaimed, as if this were the worst idea he’d ever heard. “Are we just going to throw every rule of courtesy out the window now? Are we going to be _complete_ savages, then?”

Alice crossed her arms over her chest. “Looks like it,” she sassed back. Mike winced—it was always awkward to witness family arguments.

Suddenly Dr. Orange Light smirked. “Body language,” he said cryptically, pointing at her arms. She dropped them with a frustrated sigh. “Come on, let’s not be rude to your guest,” he went on cheerfully, turning back to Mike. “Introduce him, already.”

Mike had met Dr. Orange Light many times in the past, which Alice seemed to acknowledge in her droning response. “Dad, this is Mike. Mike, this is my dad, Dr. Cal Orange Light.”

“ _Calvin_ ,” her father corrected obnoxiously. “And what’s his last name? Or doesn’t he have one? Is it just Mike, like Madonna or Bono?”

Alice rolled her eyes with _great_ disdain. “Mike Newton.”

Dr. Orange Light gave Mike a scary, slightly manic grin. “Mike Newton,” he acknowledged, then said a phrase Mike didn’t understand and bowed slightly. “Welcome to my home.”

“Um, thanks,” Mike replied awkwardly.

“Your bow was off,” Alice critiqued her father.

Dr. Orange Light ignored her. “Bow a little bit in return,” he instructed Mike. “Not that much. Right, that’s nice. Have you seen my daughter’s bedroom?” he asked abruptly, and Mike had no idea what kind of expression froze on his face. It must have been one that attested to his innocence, however. “That’s good. But you’ve thought about it, though, haven’t you? Ooh, that’s gonna cost you.”

“Dad!” Alice complained, reaching her limit.

“Alright, alright, let’s not keep everyone waiting for dinner,” Dr. Orange Light decided, turning his back on them and striding down the hall in his weird, stiff-legged swagger.

Alice sighed. “Come on.” She started to reach for Mike’s hand.

“No!” her father ordered, not even looking back at them. Alice gritted her teeth but walked at Mike’s side without touching him. Meanwhile, Mike tried to remember why he’d thought dinner here would be a good idea.

Not only was he the guest and thus already of interest, but now Mike was also among the last to enter the surprisingly cozy dining room, meaning all eyes were on him. The dining room tables were oddly similar to the ones he’d seen in the classroom—two curved shapes, note quite full half-circles, that were positioned with the end of one inside the curve of the other. Also, they seemed to be slightly lower than a normal table, for some reason. The room was teeming with children, of course, as the baby born earlier in the year was Alice’s _nineteenth_ sibling. Two of them were older than her and had stayed behind in the Valley, however.

Dr. Gillian smiled pleasantly at Mike. “Mike, you know my husband, Eli,” she confirmed, gesturing to the dark-haired man who was herding children at one of the tables. “Have you met my wife, Ria?” The other woman in the room looked up and nodded at Mike.

“Hello,” he told her politely, having seen her around but never really spoken to her.

“Bow,” Cal hissed at him, not quietly. “Not so much. She’s not the First Lady, you know.” Dr. Gillian made what sounded like a discreet noise of warning. “Teaching moment,” he assured her blithely. “You gonna answer or what?” He was looking down the table at Ria.

“If you’d let me get a word in,” she replied through a tight smile. Mike decided this was just how life _was_ at their house. Ria—whose darker skin made her an exotic sight in Eastport, and whose youth made it difficult for Mike to think of her as _any_ kind of mother to Alice—gave the teenager a more genuine smile and said a phrase in the Valley language. Mike wasn’t skilled enough to know if it was the same one Dr. Orange Light had told him or not. “Welcome to our home.”

There was an awkward moment as Mike was unsure of the proper response; he jumped a bit when Alice’s father suddenly clapped his hands together. “Great! Let’s eat.”

Dr. Orange Light and Dr. Gillian sat next to each other at one table, while the younger two spouses sat together at the other table. Mike was directed to a chair beside Alice at the first table, with the other chairs quickly filled by children ranging from preschool age to teenagers. The _very_ young ones—babies and toddlers—would have eaten already and been put to bed, Alice had explained, but the others were scattered around the tables in no pattern that Mike could discern. The servants began to walk out of the kitchen carrying plates.

“How you feelin’, Mike?” Dr. Orange Light asked him solicitously. “You got a cold or anything?”

“Um, no, sir, I’m fine, thanks,” Mike assured him, confused. Alice made a put-upon noise beside him.

“Alright, then.” A servant reached around Mike and placed a large plate, more like a serving platter, on the table in the space between his pile of silverware and Alice’s. “You can eat with Alice.”

Mike glanced around the table and saw that everyone was pairing up to share plates in a similar way. Eli and Ria each held a small child on their lap to eat with instead. He’d seen Darkwood people do this before, of course, at their diner and sometimes other restaurants, but—

“Would you prefer your own plate, Mike?” Dr. Gillian asked graciously, seeing his expression. “It would be no bother.”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Mike insisted. “This is fine.”

“Alice, did you explain to him about the dishes?” Dr. Gillian went on, her casual tone betraying no hint that she now distrusted Mike’s level of preparation for the meal.

With good reason. “So when the food comes around,” Alice began, speaking quickly, “if the dish is _green_ , it’s vegetarian. And if the dish is _blue_ , it’s kosher. Try not to get the serving spoons mixed up, either. Oh, but you can eat whatever you want, even if it’s blue or green.” She had, at least, already ascertained that Mike didn’t have any dietary restrictions himself.

“Oh, okay,” Mike replied, nodding. Two color codes seemed simple enough.

“I think we’re ready,” Dr. Gillian decided, glancing at the servants. “We always pray before we eat,” she added to Mike. He nodded quickly, and at some unseen signal everyone at the table closed their eyes and bowed their heads, some clasping their hands together before them. Mike did the same, but self-consciously kept peeking around the table to make sure he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Dr. Gillian spoke several lines in their native language, her tone sincere and modulated, never rushed or rote, and finished with a recognizable _Amen_. Several of the children, as well as Ria, crossed themselves afterwards. Then people began chattering again, pulling napkins into their laps and rearranging their silverware.

“In honor of our guest,” Dr. Orange Light began, and Mike wanted to groan, “we’ll be speaking English at dinner tonight. That goes for everyone,” he added.

“I bet _Charlotte_ doesn’t have to speak English!” offered one young smart-aleck, glancing towards a little girl on Eli’s lap. “Or Lucia!” They were the youngest children present, only perhaps three or four years old.

“You’re right, they don’t,” Dr. Orange Light conceded, with an unpleasant tone. “You’re so clever. I’m breeding a bloody master race here.”

“Cal,” Dr. Gillian warned.

“G-d, that was tasteless,” agreed Eli with good humor.

“Oh, come on, you haven’t even tried it yet,” Cal quipped, taking the first plate of food a servant offered him.

The meal itself was also not as exotic as Mike had anticipated. Platters of food were passed from person to person for everyone to help themselves from, with the servants hovering near the younger children for assistance—pretty much the same as at Mike’s extended family gatherings, minus the servants of course. And the food wasn’t anything unfamiliar, either—chicken breasts, pasta, vegetables, fruit, rolls. Probably the weirdest part was being offered Kool-Aid to drink—and that was only because there were seven different flavors to choose from, waiting off to the side in gleaming clear pitchers.

Fortunately, Mike was not forced to talk about himself to the tables constantly but rather was ignored, for the most part. He usually only received a glance when someone was chastised for not speaking English. It was kind of fun, actually, sitting in the middle of the hubbub, sharing a plate with Alice—it took some doing to figure out when they each could cut their food, as they tended to bump hands and thus earn suspicious glances from Alice’s father.

The adults couldn’t exactly talk about their work in detail, since it was all confidential, but those who had gone into town that day mentioned who they’d spoken to, where they’d gone for lunch. Dr. Orange Light got to talking about the research he was doing for the book he was writing, which was about—no joke—ritual murder in religious cults, until he got too gory and the others shushed him. Which didn’t take long.

Then they went around the table and each child had to tell something they’d learned that day in their school lessons, which often sparked a general discussion of that topic—or an argument, if someone else had wanted to use the same fact. Though, for such a large gathering of kids, Mike thought they were actually pretty quiet and well-behaved. Better than he and his cousins at holiday meals, that was for sure.

From what he could tell, it looked like the older siblings were very involved in looking after the younger ones, making sure they didn’t make a mess or get too loud. Alice was frequently turned to the little boy sitting next to her, though her job wasn’t as difficult as her brother Luke’s, who could barely keep his charge in her seat. Mike recognized her as the restless little girl from the classroom, Caroline. Mike was grateful for the distraction she provided, though, because Luke had a tendency to _watch_ him with eyes very much like his father’s—he was the spitting image of Dr. Orange Light, in fact, right down to the head tilt.

The meal started to wind down, with the servants clearing away dirty plates and silverware. “Okay, this part might be weird,” Alice whispered to Mike, and he was suddenly on alert. Perhaps the relative normality of the meal had lulled him into a false sense of security. Whatever ritual was approaching seemed to be expected by the others, as they began to quiet down and look towards Dr. Orange Light expectantly.

“Everyone ready to try our new food, then?” he asked, with that mad scientist gleam in his eye. “This one might cause some controversy,” he added, seeming pleased by the idea. He produced a jar and thumped it dramatically on the table. “Pickled pigs’ feet!” Noises of disgust rose from the tables as they stared at the pale pink objects in the jar.

“That’s awful,” Ria judged firmly. “I’m not eating that.” She was the main vegetarian in the family.

“Per usual,” Dr. Orange Light continued, ignoring her, “anyone who dares to eat the new food will receive dessert. Which tonight is… chocolate torte. Those who refuse will miss out.”

“What’s torte?” asked one of the children.

“I don’t know, but it’s chocolate, that’s the important part,” Dr. Orange Light replied. He shook the jar, wiggling the bloated hooves inside. “Who’s with me, then?”

“I can’t eat it either,” Eli declared. He was Jewish, Mike remembered, and pickled pigs’ feet were _not_ very kosher.

“Oh, you wouldn’t sell your soul for a bit of chocolate torte?” Dr. Orange Light tempted. “Bring one out and show everyone,” he told a servant, who quickly complied. “ _Two_ chocolate tortes to anyone who breaks their moral code to eat a pig foot.”

“Cal,” Dr. Gillian warned. That seemed to Mike to be one of her primary jobs, to jab her husband when he went over the line.

“I’ll try it,” Luke agreed.

“Good lad,” his father praised him. “But you only get _one_ chocolate torte.”

“I’ll have some, too,” Mike said, and all eyes wheeled around to him. Dr. Orange Light raised an eyebrow. “I’ve had them before,” he added, under scrutiny. “My grandma makes them.”

His host blinked at him for a moment. “And here I thought you were going to be useless,” he told Mike with interest. A servant took the jar and began dishing out the delicacy to all the brave volunteers. “Tell me every single thing you know about them.”

Fortunately for those around the table, Mike didn’t know very much. But Dr. Orange Light was perfectly capable of speculating, based on comparisons with practices he’d encountered during his extensive travels. “—and somewhat reminiscent of the time in New Guinea when I—“ Several people interrupted him at this point.

“He _always_ manages to work in how he ate human brains once,” Alice whispered to Mike, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, that’s annoying,” he deadpanned.

After the pigs’ feet had been tasted—no one was expected to eat a whole one—the desserts were passed out. Those who had tried the new food of the day received a luscious, rich chocolate torte; but the consolation prize for the others was a pudding pop, which Eli in particular ate with great satisfaction.

It was the job of several of the children to help clear the table and wash dishes in the kitchen; the servants could have done it alone, and faster, too, but the children’s chores were designed to build their characters, not actually make anyone’s life easier. Everyone else drifted out to the back patio and the yard, to enjoy the slanted but still strong light of the summer evening.

Mike had always lived in a house in the middle of town; but he was no stranger to the woods that covered much of the island, being the sort of boy who had always enjoyed bonfires, camping, mudding, and other outdoor pursuits. The Orange Lights owned several acres on Redoubt Hill, with the house in a large clearing that faded into the thick trees, beyond the vegetable gardens, the red barn, Dr. Gillian’s extensive flower beds. There was more than a hint of sea salt in the light breeze that swayed the leaves, and the backdrop of chirping insects kept the quiet from being overwhelming. Even the shrieks and giggles of the children playing on the lawn seemed slightly muffled, less intrusive than Mike would have thought.

Of course, there were plenty of other things around to be intrusive.

“Scatter,” Dr. Orange Light ordered, plopping down on the far end of the porch swing. He seemed to be talking only to Alice, who protested. But her father wasn’t interested in her complaints, as usual. “Go be helpful somewhere. I want to chat with young Mike here.” And didn’t _that_ sound incredibly ominous. Alice muttered something at her father in their native language, then shot Mike an apologetic look and stomped off, probably to complain to one of her other parents. The porch swing rocked rhythmically as Mike waited for the interrogation, trying to remember that Alice’s father was a respected doctor who allegedly helped people with their problems, not gave them new ones.

“So, Mike,” Dr. Orange Light began, pronouncing the teenager’s name like it was something exotic and unfamiliar. Mike tried to turn so he was facing him a bit more, even though that stare of his freaked him out. “School year almost done for you?”

“Yeah. Er, yes, sir,” Mike replied, glad he’d started with an easy one. “Just a couple more weeks. Do, um, Darkwood kids still have school in the summer?” He really was curious, but he also hoped that by asking his own questions he might distract the doctor a bit.

“Of course,” the older man answered, though not with irritation. “It’s continuous, no long breaks. Otherwise everything they know slides right out of their heads. In the fall you start your last year of school, right?” he added without missing a beat.

“Yes, sir, I’ll be a senior,” Mike replied, having a sinking feeling where this conversation was headed.

“Everyone asks you this,” Dr. Orange Light stated, reading Mike’s mind. Or at least his expression. “But that’s because it’s important. What are you gonna do after you graduate? Hmm, that’s interesting,” he commented, before Mike could say anything. “No set plan yet, then?”

“My parents want me to go to college,” Mike admitted.

“You don’t want to do that, though,” the doctor replied, as certainly as if he were merely repeating something Mike had told him earlier.

“It seems like a waste of time,” Mike said thoughtfully. It felt a bit silly to conceal or even sugarcoat things when talking to someone who could so obviously see right through him. “I’d rather start working right away.” And it _was_ nice how Dr. Orange Light didn’t get a horrified look in his eye as Mike said this, the way some of his friends and family did.

Instead he just nodded encouragingly. “Where would you work? With your parents? No. Got somewhere else in mind? Yes.”

Plus, this whole mind-reading thing saved a lot of time. “Well, I’d like to have my own business someday,” Mike revealed, wondering if it was even a surprise. He’d talked to Alice before about this, after all. “Probably sporting goods and outdoor equipment, like my dad. But, I don’t really want _his_ business.”

“Mm-hmm,” Dr. Orange Light replied, as if this were all very interesting to him. “Why not? Family conflict. Sort of. Don’t like taking orders. No. You’d do things differently.”

“I have some ideas,” Mike agreed, feeling slightly eager to talk about it to someone who, hopefully, wasn’t going to be mad about it. “But he doesn’t really listen to me. My dad, I mean. Which I totally understand. But, I’d like to work at another place, maybe more than one, and see how _they_ do things, and maybe I could explain my ideas to him better. Or just have my own store, and not worry about what he thought.”

Dr. Orange Light stared at Mike for a long moment, his green eyes unwavering. “What kind of ideas?” he finally asked.

“Well, sometimes when we do the inventory…” Mike broke off a couple minutes later, feeling sheepish. “Sorry. I get kinda carried away. It’s pretty boring, really.”

“Oh trust me, Mike,” Dr. Orange Light replied, “if you start to bore me I’ll let you know.” And somehow Mike believed him.

On the other side of the lawn. “Stay over here,” Gillian instructed her daughter quietly, putting an arm around her shoulders.

“But, Mom!” Alice protested. “He’s _monopolizing_ Mike!” She peered back towards the house from her seat on a stone bench farther out in the yard. “He’s probably torturing him somehow.”

Gillian smiled faintly. “It looks to me that Mike is doing most of the talking,” she observed. “I’m… fairly confident your father is not doing anything _too_ inappropriate.” The conditional assurance did not bolster Alice’s confidence. “I think he’s been very well-behaved about all this,” she reminded her daughter firmly. “This is different than what he was taught, you know.”

Alice had heard _that_ before. But it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to her, never had. “But that’s why you came to America, isn’t it? To do things differently?”

Gillian saw the same frustration in her daughter’s eyes that she was certain her own sponsor had seen in Gillian’s at the same age. Although Gillian liked to think that she’d hidden it better, been more patient. Cautious was probably the better word, actually—and apprehensive, based on her past experiences. Alice didn’t _have_ any bad past experiences, so she was eager to charge ahead at full speed. And for all of that, Gillian was profoundly grateful. She hugged Alice closer, confusing the teenager for a moment. “We _are_ doing things differently,” she assured her. “Just trust your father, alright?” She always did.

**

It was late enough that most of the children had been put to bed, though the teenagers were still up somewhere. Mike had been sent home long ago, of course, after what Eli felt was a successful visit. Cal hadn’t been any more obnoxious than usual—understated, really, or maybe Gillian had been calling him on it faster than usual—and Mike hadn’t run away from them screaming. _This_ evening, anyway. Eli liked the teenager. He seemed like a good kid, not cocky and posing like so many of the teenagers in this country. He tried to be honest. That kind of thing went a long way in this household.

Eli walked into one of the parlors, finding Gillian perched demurely in the middle of the couch with a book while Cal slouched in a chair with a newspaper. The quiet little scene didn’t fool Eli for a moment, though, and he smirked as he walked around the couch to help himself to some tea the servants had put out. “So what did you guys think of Mike?” he asked, in a slightly mischievous tone. “Zipper,” he added to Cal, rounding the chair to sit down beside Gillian.

Cal rolled his eyes but displayed no embarrassment as he adjusted his pants; Gillian blushed faintly but seemed mostly amused. One didn’t exactly need to be a body-language expert to guess what the two of them would get up to any time they were alone in a room—they were just lucky Eli had approached noisily and given them time to (mostly) get put back together. The first couple times of accidentally walking in on them had been more than enough—especially for Cal.

“ _That’s_ what I came in here to ask you about,” Gillian remembered suddenly.

“Well, that’s not very interesting,” Cal dismissed, shaking the newspaper. “Glad we moved on to another topic.”

“It _is_ of vital importance to determine what color underwear Gillian’s wearing today,” Eli quipped pleasantly. “I’m calling it hot pink.”

“Wrong,” Cal shot back, without looking up.

“I thought Mike was very nice,” Gillian redirected quickly, before her husbands could get sidetracked further. Especially when she was there to _hear_ it. “He’s very polite and well-mannered.”

“He brought you orange flowers,” Eli agreed, grinning again.

Cal reacted with a rare giggle, which was a slightly disturbing sound. “That was _priceless_ ,” he snickered. “D’you think Alice told him to do that? Is she that cruel?”

Gillian gave the two men chastising looks. “I thought it was very sweet of him to bring a gift,” she countered, taking Eli’s cup to drink from it. “Obviously flowers have a different cultural association here.”

“G-d, I hope so,” Cal deadpanned, and Eli couldn’t help the little snort that escaped him.

Gillian rolled her eyes. “He seemed far more mature than certain adults I know,” she remarked pointedly.

Cal tossed the newspaper he’d been pretending to read over his shoulder, utterly unconcerned with the mess it made behind his chair. He made a very convincing show of being perplexed and slightly wounded. “Do you have any idea what she’s talking about?” he demanded of Eli.

The other man pretended to consider it as he took the tea back from Gillian. “Maybe… maybe, she’s thinking of someone who tried to make us eat _pickled pigs’ feet_ at dinner,” he suggested.

Cal grinned, unapologetic. “I been savin’ those for a special occasion.”

“And Mike _did_ eat them,” Gillian reminded him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Cal cut in, looking indignant, and Eli could tell this was going to be good, “so it’s _bad_ to _suggest_ that people eat the pigs’ feet, but _good_ to, in fact, eat them?”

“I think it’s _bad_ to bribe people with chocolate to break their moral code,” a new voice added as Ria entered the parlor.

“Oh, well, now I’m outnumbered,” Cal commented with resignation.

Eli scoffed at him. “You were outnumbered before!”

“Technically,” Cal agreed offhand, “but I can take any two of you.” Noises of derision met this remark. “Maybe two and a half.”

“Glad I could change the balance of power,” Ria replied sarcastically, sitting down on the couch on the other side of Gillian.

Cal gestured for her to hand over the tea she’d just poured for herself and she did so with a sigh of exasperation. She knew she shouldn’t indulge him the way Gillian did. She didn’t have the older woman’s patience for it. “You never really met Mike before,” Cal said to her, slurping the tea. _Her_ tea, made just the way _she_ liked it. “What did you think of him? This is disgusting, by the way. Is there an _entire_ lemon in this? One and a half?”

Cal certainly had a talent for negating his compliments, Ria thought, trying to get her cup back. But it was uncommon for him to actually _ask_ what she thought, so she didn’t want to lose her chance. “I thought he—“

“You don’t like him?” Cal couldn’t seem to help interrupting, reading her expression. “Why don’t you like him? I thought you did. Too immature? Too… tall? Well now you’re just muddying the waters,” he criticized as her expression changed to one of irritation at _him_. “Try to stay focused, love.”

Ria made an effort to compose herself. “You’re lucky you’re holding the cup,” she finally ground out. Because otherwise she might’ve thrown it at him. Cal seemed unperturbed by her remark but took the hint and said nothing, just waiting expectantly for her to continue with her opinion. She wondered if Gillian had given him a warning look of some kind. “He seemed nice enough,” she began, and she knew it was a soft and pointless remark that Cal would mock, and look, there he was, rolling his eyes. “ _But_ ,” Ria added forcefully, before Cal could speak, “too uncertain, too nervous.”

“Having dinner with four people trained to detect every lie,” Eli began dryly. “What could a teenage boy _possibly_ have to be nervous about?”

Ria gave him a look that said, _Shut up, I’m serious_. “I think it would be a _challenge_ for him to get used to our culture,” Ria pressed, unable to tell if she was convincing Cal. “I don’t know if he’s serious enough about Alice for it to work. I don’t think _she’s_ serious enough about _him_.”

Cal stared at her for a moment, inscrutable. Then he held out the cup. “More tea.” It was not a request. Exasperated again—or maybe it was something stronger—Ria snatched the cup from him and stood, stalking back over to the tea stand. There was definitely going to be _extra_ lemon in _this_ cup.

“I think Alice is very fond of Mike,” Gillian remarked conditionally, “but as Ria said, not serious.” The younger woman tried to feel grateful for the support. “I don’t think she needs to be serious right now, though. She’s still young, especially by the standards in this country. It’s fairly typical here for a girl to be _fond_ of several different boys, before settling down.”

“Yeah, not everybody likes to pick ‘em green off the vine,” Eli cracked, and Ria laughed unexpectedly from the tea stand, where she was squeezing another lemon wedge into her cup. She couldn’t contain her smug expression when she returned to the couch and handed the cup to Cal, especially when she saw the narrow look he was giving Eli.

“My _point_ ,” Gillian reiterated, trying to keep the discussion on track, “is just that Alice has plenty of time to become serious about someone. And I think it’s good for her to be friends with Mike and for him to see what our family is like.”

Cal took a big gulp of the tea. “Delicious,” he told Ria, not even grimacing. She glared at him.

“What was I saying earlier about _maturity_?” Gillian commented, rolling her eyes.

“Hey, what were you guys chatting about after dinner?” Eli wanted to know of Cal.

“Yeah, when you glared at me every time I came within ten feet?” added Ria pointedly.

“The future,” Cal revealed. It was a favorite subject of his, especially with young people who seemed uncertain. “Mike’s not too keen on higher education. He’d rather get more work experience and have his own business someday.”

“What about part-time school?” Eli probed. “If he wants to be a business owner in this country he’ll need _some_ kind of training, won’t he?” All the clans who ran businesses in Eastport had taken a number of classes before they’d plunged into the world of American small business.

“You like him,” Gillian deduced suddenly, though Cal’s expression read something more like disdain to the others. “You like him more than you did before.” She seemed genuinely pleased by this development.

Cal refused to acknowledge it, however. “Hmm, look at the time,” he evaded, purposely exaggerating. He set the tea cup down—having drunk nothing besides the first gulp, Ria noted—and stood from the chair. “Us _immature_ people can’t stay up so late, you know.” Cal practically crawled over Ria to kiss Gillian on the cheek. “’Night, love.” He patted Eli on the shoulder, which was his way of saying goodnight to the other man. Then he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed out the door.

Ria rolled her eyes, too used to him ignoring her to really take offense anymore. Mostly. “Well, I wouldn’t blame Mike for _not_ wanting to come back here, ever,” she muttered to herself, then turned to the other two on the couch when she heard a murmur that seemed unrelated to her remark. Gillian was leaning back with Eli’s arm around her shoulders and the expressions on their faces were _not_ hard to read. Ria shook her head and stood, feeling a bit extraneous yet again. She’d known these people more than a dozen years now, you would think she’d have _some_ idea of where she fit into this Chinese puzzle box.

Cal suddenly stuck his head around the doorway. “Are you coming or what?” he asked, staring straight at Ria. She blinked in surprise and stole a glance at Gillian, who seemed otherwise occupied at the moment. Had they passed some secret signal between the two of them earlier? Cal tapped his food impatiently, on the verge of saying something rude no doubt, and as much as Ria hated feeling like she’d been summoned, she wasn’t about to let the opportunity go by. Besides, the longer Cal had to watch Eli nuzzle Gillian’s neck, the worse his mood was going to be. “Uh, sure,” she replied, hurrying towards him. “Goodnight!” she called back over her shoulder, to only mumbled responses. Fortunately Ria missed the little wink Gillian shot to Cal—she would’ve been up all night analyzing it, instead of being up all night enjoying herself.

Alone at last, Eli doubled his attentions towards Gillian. “So, what color underwear _are_ you wearing?”


End file.
